Wishbones
by BeanieSlams
Summary: It did not hurt when I fell from heaven, to answer that age-old pick-up line. No, the fall was quite blissful. What did end up hurting were the arms that caught me. I was not "as light as a feather" or "as graceful as a swan". And despite these things, he called me "Swan" anyway.
1. Chapter 1

**Summary: **It did not hurt when I fell from heaven, to answer that age-old pick-up line. No, the fall was quite blissful. What did end up hurting were the arms that caught me. I was not "as light as a feather" or "as graceful as a swan". And despite these things, he called me "Swan" anyway.

**AN: Hi! Let's get a few things out of the way.**

**Disclaimer: I didn't write the Bible, Torah, Quran, or Twilight. The plot is mine. No infringement, blah, blah, blah.**

**I don't know exactly where I'm going with this, but I have a faint idea. I have two other stories, and an extremely hectic life right now, as well as an extremely impatient Jewish fiancée, who is waiting on me to hurry up and post this so he can go to sleep. I cannot promise weekly updates, but I can guarantee you won't have to wait six months for a second chapter. But it really all depends on the response I get. **

**Another thing: This story is being told in what you know as Bella's point of view. But, seeing as she is an androgynous angel for the time being, she can't really be called Bella, can she? No. Her name is Ulysses. **

**With that being said, read on!**

* * *

_Chapter 1: Rites of Passage_

Ulysses POV

All Angels have to go through a Rite of Passage, some more than others do – especially when one is planning on climbing up the hierarchical ladder. The Passage varies or each angel, and is said to be very difficult. They are administered by the Dominion, but are chosen by God. That was the way it was, and will be until He changes His mind.

I had no problem with that. None of us did. We were but sheep, prepping for a strange metamorphosis that would transform us into shepherds.

And as young sheep, we all had unwavering faith in the higher power. Nothing but devotion and love in Him. Trust. Only one of us had strayed, and he wreaked havoc from below. None of us wished to join him. We wished to please and take part in God's divine plan, what ever it may be. None of us knew what it was. Gabriel and Michael had more of an inkling, but in the end, were just as clueless as us, the Passers. We did not pry because we trusted Him. None of us had a problem with having no control or say as to what would happen. What right did we have, anyway?

No, we were all magnanimously trusting.

The first seed of uncertainty sprung from within me, as soon as I began to wonder _why _that was.

***B*U***

"Ulysses." I received from within my head. Angels, unlike humans, had no written language or voice box, as far as we were concerned. Every message is sent telepathically from mind to mind. There is no voice to hear, per se, but rather sonar that tells us who is trying to reach us. The voice that is reaching me is rather large in size but not too large, indicating it's rank. A Dominion.

I search around the wide space around me, trying to locate the being. Gently, I maneuver through the crowd of Passers around me, ever conscious of my wings brushing against rough objects. Like a human baby grows teeth, we grow our wings. It starts off nothing more than a lump on our shoulder blades, then that lump protrudes and eventually extends to its full length, sprouting feathers along the way. It is only once we complete our Passage that the feathers begin to sprout. The process is extremely uncomfortable, and is as close to pain as we can ever feel. The Passers about to enter their Passage have nothing but ivory bone extending from their backs, while the littler Passers have but nuggets. I suppose that it looks like a . . . wishbone would. Or at least half of a wish bone, anyway. Like wishbones, the ivory bones can break, which is why I am so conscious of them.

Mine have grown to their full length, dropping just behind my knees, and I would really rather not go through this phase again so I lightly push my way amongst the others.

"Ulysses," I receive again from the right. I whip my head towards the direction and hastily charge toward the Dominion, only to abruptly pause in front of them.

"Fay," I greet, with a small smile. Fay smiles back, white teeth flashing back at me in contrast with ebony skin. Us angels all come in a variation of shades and physical builds. Fay is rather tall, a human equivalent to eight feet, with sinewy muscles and big feet. Fay has dark blue eyes, almost the shade of the Pacific Ocean at midnight, as well as thick, curly brown hair that falls shoulder length. Fay's cheekbones are high, and smile, wide. I suppose that if Fay was a human, Fay would be considered a male, but here in the Heavens, we have no concept of sex, so Fay is as androgynous as the rest of us.

"Your time is soon," Fay tells me, smile still in place. "And yet your wings still grow."

"Like trees?" I wonder, off handedly. "I read in the text that trees, like humans, stop growing as they age – "

"Ulysses, always comparing us to those below." Fay murmurs. "Why do you seek to relate us to such petty spirits?"

"I do not think them so petty," I mumble. "They are as important as we are. They, too, are included in the "grand scheme"." Fay laughs, and the sound brushes against my shoulders from the force, making the ivory on my back twinge.

"I do not think "scheme" is the word you mean. Have you been reading the Book of Phrase, again?" Fay wonders, arms crossed.

I duck my head sheepishly, brushing the hair out of my eyes. "I find it fascinating how they vary through time."

"If you were human, they would call you a "book worm"." Fay laughs again, dark eyes twinkling.

"I have not heard that one before!" I exclaim, happily as ever to learn new words. I could not help my enthusiasm, I did find human language quite interesting, or rather, just humans in general. How love and hatred could coexist within the same human body bemused and saddened me at the same time. I was extremely interested in their psychosis and what made them tick. What made God love them so? And how are they different from us? That was one of the things I was most curious about, but I keep such questions to myself, when I'm not around Fay.

"Then you have more work to do," Fay smiles. "Alas, I fear you have ran out of time, dear one."

"Time?" I question, curiously.

"Your Passage is upon us, that is why I summoned you here. You are to receive your mission."

"Mission? So soon?" I blanch, bones vibrating from my skin.

"What else is there for you to know, dear one? You have completed every task that was expected of you. And then some."

"And then some?"

Fay's eyes roll.

"You have learned extra. Your Rite of Passage is here, Ulysses. This is it! Whether you think you are prepared or not, we are going." Fay zones out for a quick moment, only to snap back into focus. "Quickly, now. We must make haste."

With that, I am tucked swiftly into Fay's arms, our skin touching, my Wishbones jutting out from behind us. I do not know what is more exhilarating, the tingling passing through me from the physical contact with Fay, or the speed as we take wing. I have never touched a Dominion, let alone a Ranked Angel, and their vibrating auras hit me to my very core. The feeling is nice, a little overwhelming, but enjoyable. Furthermore, I have never flown, as I have no wings. We Passers have to glide everywhere.

The flight is short, but unforgettable. Fay's wings correspond with his body, twisting and darting with force, depending on the direction. I had never noticed the sheer beauty of the feathers that make up Fay's wings until now. They seem translucent, changing colors with the scenery, but hold a soft undertone of gray. They look soft, but firm, like they could caress one's cheek lovingly, but are able to spear an opponent without so much as a ruffle.

Between the buzzing of my body and Fay's wondrous wings, I do not register where we are until Fay sets me on the ground. The room is unfamiliar, if you could call it a room. There are far too many pillars and too much empty space to constitute it as a room. But yet it is the space we occupy. I sense others in the room, but none larger than Fay. There are three other Dominions that sit high off the ground, a bit higher than Fay's head. I know two of them by name, the last I've never seen before. I look to Fay curiously, before he shoots off to join them on the fourth stoop.

The two I recognize, Jezer and Liaz, look down at me sweetly. Jezer has a tiny frame, but is extraordinarily long, longer than Fay, with short, red hair that curls only at the ends. Liaz has shoulder-length, jet-black hair, and a dimpled chin, and is about the same size. The third, however, is around six feet, extremely short for a Dominion, with cropped, black hair and small pointed ears. Out of the three, she is the only one who could pass for a female.

"Ulysses," she greets with a small, curt nod, getting right to the point. "You have been summoned for your Rites of Passage, as you have completed all levels of Passing, dutifully and tediously. Your teachers speak very highly of you and see great potential in you," she pauses for a second, as if to let the compliment sit. I nod my head and smile gratefully at my teachers. "As you know, this is Liaz and Jezer, it was Fay who brought you, and my name is Aliciel. We have reviewed your progress very carefully, and were very amazed by your results. You are and excellent student, Ulysses. However," Aliciel pauses, tilting her head slightly to the right. "Your frequent curiosity has put us in a strange predicament regarding your Passage."

"Oh?" I question, very dumbly. "I was not aware that . . ."

"And you are not faulted for that. We do not fault curious Passers, but we are quite suspicious about the doubtful ones."

"Doubt!" I send, bewildered. A thousand pulses tumble inside my head at the word and its negative connotation. "I can assure you all, that there is not an ounce of doubt in my spirit. I am as certain about my beliefs as you."

"Do not be so paranoid, Ulysses," Jezer sighs, leaning forward. "Aliciel did not think you tainted with doubt. Nor did we."

I relax at this.

"Still," Aliciel adds, "Curiosity leads to three things; answers, questions and doubts. We do not wish to have any doubtful Angels among us if we can help it."

"I understand." I nod again. I begin to feel shameful for all of the quandaries I've ever had, for they have worried our Creator. As my head hangs low, I hear Fay speak.

"Do not feel shameful for not being a simple Passer. It is a waste of time," Fay sends. "How about you tell us of the questions buzzing about your head?"

"Questions?" I repeat, hesitantly. I begin to fumble over my words, and I am sure everyone can hear the chaos ricocheting in my head. It is one thing to be suspected of doubt, but a wholly other thing for it to be confirmed, especially by one's own mouth. Fear courses through me at the thought of how I might misconstrue my words, and how they may be perceived. What I said about my faith was very true, but that didn't mean I understood it. I did not understand why everyone had so much faith in God, why we followed behind him and never strayed from our intended path. It just didn't –

"I see," Aliciel nods.

"See what?" I ask, panicked.

"What you wonder about. I see it. I can hear it. You wonder why we trust so much in God, right?" I nod once, eyes still on the ground. "You wonder why He makes no mistakes, but we all do, regardless of the fact that we are a part of Him. You especially wonder about the humans." Aliciel smiles at me delicately. "How they can be so malicious and ungrateful, and yet God still loves them unconditionally. You wonder about God's motives and plans, this is a common thought. We all wonder. Never feel guilty for simply wondering." Aliciel pauses for a moment, looking at me. "Longing?"

"What?"

"Huh. Well, this is certainly new."

"What is it, Aliciel?" Jezer pipes up.

"Ulysses. . ."

"What?"

"She - " Aliciel looks at Jezer, then back to me. There is a peculiar look in Aliciel's eyes. "You long to be one of them."

The chaos in my head starts back up again, Aliciel winces from the feel of it. "I . . . um,"

"Why on Earth would you long to be one of them?" Liaz charges.

"Liaz." Aliciel states sternly before turning back to me. "Ulysses. . ."

"I cannot help myself, Aliciel. It's a selfish feeling and I know it cannot be helped, yet I cannot stop." I cast my eyes to the pale marble floor, feeling utterly selfish. It is a foolish desire to have; there is no way I could ever be one of them. I know that. And I should be grateful that I am on the road to become a full-pledged Angel, that I have the opportunity to work under the legion of Him. I would never want to work for another. I know that.

But, through my Passing, I have realized that Angels are a sort of . . . perfected species. Even us as Passers are already on the road to perfection. Not an object in this Utopia is out of line. Not a thing. The marble on the floor is even, no cracks or smudges. The fitted togas here do not shrug out of place, nor do they wrinkle. Every hair on our heads is finely arranged. We are finely arranged. Perfect. And then I look into The Portal or read the books and I see that Earth is plagued with imperfection, and impurity, and hatred, and the contrast between us above and them below . . . it mystifies me.

"It can be helped." Aliciel states suddenly.

"It can? How?" The series of questions from us all cause Aliciel to roll her eyes.

"It has been confirmed. Your path has been decided." And with that Aliciel leaps off of her pedestal, and is in front of me. Aliciel's sudden presence causes me to shuffle backwards, a little out of fear. The look in her eyes, warns me backwards. Aliciel is mischievous, too mischievous. She chuckles a bit at my hesitance, which in turn tickles my wishbones. "Follow me."

I pause for a moment, look up to Liaz, Jezer and Fay. Liaz and Jezer nod at me in encouragement, while Fay just stares at me, his expression unreadable. Fay's eyebrows seem to be stitched together, but there is a slight smirk on his face. This stare follows me all the way down the hallway, and sets off tingles from the nape of my neck, to my pale ankles, which almost blend in with the floor.

The scenery around us transforms into a cloud like area, a place all too familiar to me than it should be. The Portal room.

The Portal room is exactly what it sounds like. It is a blue tinted area that takes on the form of the Earth sky. If we were to look down, it would appear that we would be standing, quite literally, in thin air. Below us, is Earth. The Portal room also works like a GPS would; we can lock onto any specific area and be able to look down on it from an omniscient view. Many of the other Angels who have the honor to go down to Earth exit from The Portal room, mainly the Gaurdians, as they have to watch over specific people to assure the Plan is fulfilled.

Aliciel locks in a target, and the milky white of the Portal changes. Below, I see that it is dark outside, almost midnight, judging from the moon. A lone wooden cabin stands, a yellow lantern on a porch illuminating the door and steps. Crickets chirp, and a creek runs nearby.

"Why are we here?" I ask Aliciel. Aliciel's elf-like features still retain their mischievousness, though her expression is soft.

"There is a way to cure your curiosity. It is called submersion. We have only used it once before, and it worked rather nicely."

"Sub-"

"Yes. Keep in mind that we will not be watching over you as closely as we should. You will be in the hands of a rather brusque young man, who, without a doubt, will take care of that. Ulysses, it is imprudent that you ask as many questions as possible. I cannot stress that enough. You will experience many things, many feelings and trials that at times will feel unconquerable. If you ever need help, all you need do is ask. Is that understood?"

I nod.

"Very well, then. I bid you luck on your Passage."

Before I can open my mouth to ask her a question, Aliciel's hands are on me. The feeling is so incredible, that I do not quite realize what she is doing, until I feel a pressure on my chest that pushes me, and pushes me until I am falling.

Falling.

I spiral downwards, my hair nearly blocking my vision of the space around me. The fall is quick, but lovely. First I see the stars, comets zing past me, one singeing my toga. Then I am sucked into an atmosphere, and the pressure increases. Something in my abdomen twists and churns. The different atmospheres turn from a clear white to a deep blue, then to black as I near the ground. The sky is lit up with bright stars, and I free-fall all I can do is gaze up at the universe and be amazed. Earth.

Then, just when I think I'm going to collide and make a large crater in the dirt below me, I come to an abrupt stop. My insides are in knots, my head light and vision blurry. I realize that I am in the arms of someone because a feeling of warmth shoots through my spirit, which further clouds my vision. I tremble, and turn my head to the side a little to see my captor. Blonde locks of curly hair and bright blue eyes. Strong arms and a strong jaw. A man.

He's frowning down at me, I can only make out so much of his features from the yellow lantern somewhere behind us, but he is definitely frowning. He tightens his arms around me as he does, and two sickening cracks sound, so loud that they drown out every single sound around me, the creek, the crickets, the everything. I feel myself sink deeper into his arms, and two sharp wishbones scrape against my back.

He's broken my wishbones.

The next thing I hear is a very loud shriek, which causes my head to spin and an unwelcome fuzz to hang over my eyes. A burning erupts from my shoulders and lower back so ferociously that I arch, which in turn causes my wishbones to crack some more.

The shrieking continues, and I begin to register that it is coming from me, only because the man's mouth is closed. My voice is loud and piercing, which only worsens the situation.

The burning feeling amplifies, and my vision turns black.

I fall some more.


	2. Peas

**AN: Thanks for coming back(: Thank you to my reviewers and followers! I appreciate the few that I have, so thank you so very much. **

**Before you read, I feel the need to warn you that the first paragraphs until the break are a bit descriptive. They're not gory or anything of the sort, but if you're not a fan of descriptive pain, go on ahead. It's not bad in my opinion, it's sort of like the change from human to vampire in the books. **

**Read on!**

* * *

_Chapter 2: Peas_

"_Maybe then I'll fade away and not have to face the facts, it's not easy facin' up when your whole world is black._" ~ Paint it Black by The Rolling Stones

Pain. It is harsh, strident grip on my body is strong. And new.

Very new. As a Passer, we have never had the misfortune to experience such a feeling, or any other angel for that matter, as far as I know. I have only read about it in the text, and what I have read certainly does it no justice.

The text says that there are two types of pain; physical and emotional, both of which can kill a human. Emotional pain, says the book, can be just as bad as physical pain, in the way that it can deteriorate both the mind and the human body simultaneously, by stripping off the layers of ones soul and sanity. Physical pain just deteriorates the body, but with enough intensity can destroy the mind as well.

What I am experiencing now is physical pain, very physical pain that has started from my back and expanded all over my body. Through the burning I feel as if I am being poked and prodded, especially in my chest. I feel like I am collapsing and swelling all at once, how? I do not know. I have no idea what I can compare it to.

My shrieking continues, and my mind swirls.

I was not curious about this. I did not want to know the feeling of pain. I feel tricked.

I try to ask for help, for something to quell the burning, but I cannot stop screaming.

I try to send out as many messages as I can to anyone who is listening, but my mind seems to be encased in a thick, importunate barrier. I am trapped in my own mind.

I did not ask for this. I did not ask for _this_.

The burning continues anyway.

*****B*U*

As time passes, the pain recedes. Slowly, very, very slowly. But it happens nonetheless. Then, it is gone. _Gone_. I feel my body relaxing, getting accustomed to not being in the vicious inferno anymore. I keep my eyes closed for a while, even though I have adjusted to my surroundings, and continue to keep still. Wherever I am, who ever I am with, I do not want to see yet. I just lay in the quiet, the only sound is a beating heart –

Coming from my chest.

I sit up at that revelation, my eyes flying open and a hand going to my chest – my very rounded, naked chest. I squeak at the sight of myself, and at the _sound _of myself. My hands curl around my throat, a little too tight which causes me to squeak again. In a flurry of movements caused by my legs, I push myself off of the surface I am on, which appears to be a bed. It is . . . light blue, and soft, which is a stark contrast to the floor, which is brown and . . . hard. It hurts. The rough pressure pushing against my bottom causes another squeak to arise from my throat.

I hear a shuffle of movement from somewhere in the . . . cabin, something made of glass breaking, and heavy footsteps. I gather myself upon my knees and straighten myself to a crouch, and eventually to my full height. My legs wobble and I look down at them. Pale, but not as pale as before. There is a touch of color in my skin. Like sunlight, I hold a faint glow. Looking from my legs to my arms, I notice that I not only do I glow, but I am slightly pink in places. Oh, and I am soft. I run my hands over my body, noticing the swell of my hips and bottom, to my chest.

I have breasts, which can only mean one thing.

I am a female.

I squeak at this, too. All that burning in my chest and hips . . . _Oh._

My hands go to my face, and sure enough I feel soft, full lips, the telltale sign of a woman. I look around my room for something reflective, and spot a mirror by the door.

Walking over to it isn't easy, I soon find. My limbs feel heavy in some places and notably light in others. Matching the counterbalances proves to be a problem, and I fall. Hard. Right on my shoulder.

I screech at the impact, and automatically roll onto my abdomen, my left arm clutching my shoulder blade. Pain. Steep, dark, horrible pain. From just below my shoulder blade, where my wishbones used to be.

_Gone._

It hurts so badly.

My vision clouds up with a filmy sort of substance. Tears? I blink, and a couple fall, clearing my vision just enough for me to see a set of pale, hairy feet in front of my face.

"Well, aren't you just the most graceful thing to adorn this planet?" A deep, husky voice from above. I groan and tilt my head up to see the face to match the voice, but my eyes are too full of water to see. The man leans over and crouches, reaching out a hand to brush the hair out of my face. His hand is only there for a second, but its warmth does not go unnoticed. It's oddly familiar.

"And pretty, too. Huh. What else did I expect? Anything that falls from the heavens . . ." he goes on to mumble some more, but I tune his voice out. I'm trying to stop the tears from falling, to keep myself from crying, but its awfully hard, and I find myself hiccuping in the process. "Poor thing," I hear him say. Roughly, his hands grasp the top of my arms and he pulls me into a sitting position, then drops a white sheet in my lap. He stands back, as if he's waiting for me to do something, but I do not move. He lets out a big gust of air, leans over and tucks the sheet around my chest and thighs then leans back again.

"Can you hear me?" he asks. My reply is a double hiccup. "Hey, hey," he frames his hand around my cheek. "Look at me." I move my eyes up to his but I can only see so much. Because I'm still crying. I begin to get more upset because I cannot stop it. "Hey, hey, you," he pinches my cheeks a little. "Stop that, stop . . . leaking. Angels don't cry."

_But I am not an angel. I am a . . . human. And I do not know what to do with myself._

"Hey! Cut it out! Breathe," he shouts at me. The louder he gets the more hysterical I get. "Stop, quit – Ugh. Listen to me, take a deep breath. Calm down."

_But I do not know how!_

"Watch me, look what I do." I watch as his chest expands and contracts, over and over again. "Try it, in and out." We repeat this exercise for some time until I manage to stop the tears, and eventually the hiccups. "There, there we go. Now. Can you speak?"

_Speak?_

"With your voice. Open your mouth and push out a word."

_What?_

"It's the same thing as all that screaming and yelping you were doing earlier. But now with words. Open up your throat."

I open up my throat and move my mouth, but nothing happens.

"Try to push out a word, say something, girl. I know you can."

"Augh," I say finally. My vision has cleared up, and I can clearly see the face in front of me, for the first time. His skin is like mine, but a little darker shade, as if he's been in the sun for too long. His hair is long and blonde, curly and in a disarray. His nose is perfectly straight, his nostrils a little flared. His chin has a tiny dimple in it, and his mouth is turned into a smirk, his lips are pink and full. But his eyes . . . the most shocking blue. Like some of the aquamarine gems we have in the Light Room. Beautiful. Perfect. It is disappointing.

"Well that's a good of a start as any." He smirks again. "Well, since you aren't in the mood for conversation, I guess I'll introduce myself and the ways of this world. I am Jasper. This is my cabin. You are a guest. You follow my rules. Got it?"

I just stare at his face. He sighs again.

"What's you're name?" he asks, crouching over me. I start to move my mouth, but I feeling like a gaping fish out of water. He watches me try for a moment, a slightly annoyed look on his face.

"Eeeuu," I begin, but that is as far as I get. It is hard to form words when you do not know what they sound like. Matching the sonar to how I think it is pronounced is very difficult, and I have to call upon that one phonetic lesson I took to even attempt it. Jasper huffs and lets his head fall forward, his hair falling with it.

"Just what I get," he mumbles. Slowly his head rises and his eyes meet mine. "Can you stand? Yes? No?" he nods and shakes his head.

I nod.

"Alright then," he stands up swiftly. "Up you get."

My limbs are still clumsy, and they move in awkward jerky movements. I grip the bed behind me and try to push myself up on my knees, but they slide on the floor and spread. Also, my fingers seem to tighten with this action and end up pulling the sheet off. I can feel Jasper's gaze on me, but I ignore it to the best of my ability. My hands fall to the floor with a _slap_ and I put my weight on them to help me lift up. Which, I realize, is not such a good idea because I do not know how heavy I am.

I fall forward onto my chest.

Jasper lets out a laugh or something like it.

"Graceful."

"Humph," is all he gets from me. His hands wrap around my waist and before I know it, I am up on wobbly legs, my back pressed firmly into his chest. I lean into his strong embrace involuntarily, my head falling back onto his shoulder. A soft sigh slips from my lips and he stiffens at the sound of it, then loosens his grip on my hips.

"Um, can you stand?" I nod a little. The movement is surprisingly lissome, which makes me feel a bit better about myself. Gradually, he lets go of me and abruptly I fall, the sheet slipping off of my body.

"Agh!" thankfully, I do not fall on my shoulder this time, but on my bottom. Jasper stares at me for a while, his eyes sizing up my naked form before quickly looking away.

I ball up my hands into fists and let out a frustrated grunt. Why is this so difficult? Jasper's hands help me up once again, but this time at a distance. He tells me how to move my feet, and when I do, he calls me Frankenstein. When he tells me to bend my knees, which I do, he calls me a frog. Then he lets go suddenly, and I fall, and he calls me "swan".

I wrinkle my nose in confusion, not understanding. Swans are graceful and lithe, not awkward and . . . uncoordinated. I do not understand what he means. Seeing my confusion, he explains to me about sarcasm, which is when one says something that is not always true, but in a way to mock something by the use of irony.

I did not like that much, nor did I appreciate his "humor", but Jasper just scoffed at my expression and told me that he was a sarcastic person and to get used to it.

Eventually I am able to stand, and even later than that I am able to walk. But it happens.

Jasper leads me through his cabin with a tight hold on my elbow; pointing out rooms and shooting me tentative looks as I stumble along.

"Bathroom." He leads me further down the hall. "My room." Even further. "My office." He stops, and turns to look me right in the eye. "Listen to me, Swan. You are never allowed to go in my office. Never. If I invite you in, which is highly unlikely, then that is another story. But until that time comes, you are never to set foot in there. Do you understand? Nod if you do."

So I nod. And Jasper walks some more.

He leads me into the kitchen, pushing me down into a rickety wooden chair that rocks every time I do.

"Are you hungry?" Jasper asks, opening a yellow, seemingly outdated fridge.

"Um," I mumble.

"Your stomach. In your abdomen. Is it aching?" I look down at my stomach. It feels rather empty, not quite achy though.

"Um."

"Okay, then." He says after a while, then begins to rummage around the fridge. While he is, I inspect his kitchen. It's not much, a long wooden counter with some odd looking contraptions on it, a refrigerator, a table, a chair, drawers, a sink. All the necessary essentials. The walls are wooden and a bit splintering, as most of his house is. This room, like all the others, reeks of vacancy and dust. They could stand to be cleaned and even refurbished, but at what cost? It does not seem like Jasper gets any visitors here. I wonder why that is?

I must have been in a daze because I do not notice Jasper place a plate in front of me until he snaps his fingers in front of my face.

"Eat, food." He says slowly in a deep voice. I stare up at him, wondering about his strange behavior. "Food." He says simply, nodding down at my plate.

On it sits some brown material alongside something small, round and green. Peas?

"What? Steak not good enough for you, Swan?" he smirks.

"Sss. . . sttt," I sound out.

"Steak." He nods. "Cow. Meat."

"Ppp –" I try to say "peas", but my lips seem to be puckering all wrong.

"Peas," Jasper say, languidly and I watch his mouth form the letters and measure the amount of breath he pushes out.

"Pppeeaass." I say finally, testing it out on my tongue. Jasper sucks in a deep breath and his mouth twitches. "Peas?"

Jasper nods at me, smiling a little. "Peas."

"Peas!" I exclaim, beaming up at him. I did it! I said peas!

Jasper smiles and I watch as the sides of his eyes crinkle as he does. It's not a full-fledged smile, none of his teeth are showing, but it's enough to make my smile grow into a grin.

Jasper walks me through eating, and I finish the task happily and without choking. It seems to come naturally, and I work my way through it saying, "peas" as often as I can. Jasper just smiles.

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**AN: What was your first word? Mine was "mumum":P What do you think of Jasper? Or of Swam? Any predictions? Questions? Ideas of anything you want to see happen?**

**Furthermore, Swan is going to be treated like a bit of a baby, but I promise the phase will be really quick. **

**Also, if you are reading this, leave me a review! A smiley face or one word, I don't really care. But if you want me to continue, drop me a line. **

**~ Beanie**


	3. Lazy

**AN: Hello everyone! I know I haven't updated in a while, but here it is! I want to give a mad shoutout to my beta Suuz! She's soooooo amazing, even though English is not her first language, her grammar is way better than mine. It's embarassing, really. **

**Anywho, thanks for reading, alerting and reviewing. I hope you enjoy chapter.**

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_Chapter 3: Lazy_

_"Show me the world as I'd love to see it." _~ Subterranean Homesick Alien by Radiohead

"_Alright Fran, and what do we do next?" _Bill asks, clasping his hands together so hard that excess flour billows into the air.

"Well, Bill. What we're going to do next is start the lemon meringue pie. First, we start off with – "

I'm watching television.

Jasper's idea of immersing me in culture is setting me down in front of a TV and handing me a remote.

"Have at it," he said after showing me the basic functions of the remote. "Watch their mouths form the words. Practice." I watched him press the remote into my hands, startling at the feel of his skin on mine. _Terribly _familiar. And warm. I look up at him in question but he quickly turns on his heel and is out the room.

That was about two hours ago.

What I have realized about humans in this time, is that their words and mannerisms are pretty redundant. I hear a lot of "Yes" and "No" and "I don't know" when they are not sure. Also, they use contractions. Do not is don't, will not is won't. Slurring their words, crossing their arms and tapping their feet are also reoccurring habits. I find that mimicking their actions is a lot easier than pronouncing the words.

I turn the channel.

It seems to be a broadcasting station of some sort. There is a male and female sitting behind a desk telling a story of a kid breaking a record on chewing gum, whatever that means. They keep smiling and rearranging the papers on the desk.

"_In other news, a woman in Quebec is slowly regaining her memory after, what could have been a fatal blow to the head. Sharon Flemming, an elderly woman who runs a coffee shop on Briar Street, was brutally attacked in what police believed to be a failed break in. However, nothing was stolen which still has police wondering about the motive of the robber__, who has yet to be identified. Their only witness is Ms. Flemming, who was found at the scene of the crime, passed out after a vicious blow to the side of her head.__ Doctors say that Ms. Flemming's hippocampus suffered damaging impact and her mental ability could be drastically impaired, but they couldn't be sure until she had woken up. _

_"However when Ms. Flemming came to, it seemed as if no damage had ever been inflicted. All of her charts checked off, and despite a few bruises, she was perfectly fine. Police later questioned her on what happened._

_"Experts are still debating over what Ms. Flemming actually recalls, as her story seems to be a bit bizarre."_ It cuts to a clip of what I assume is Ms. Flemming. Her hair is blond and wispy, with streaks of gray on most of the strands. Her face is terribly wrinkled, which is remarkable to me, I have never seen this sign of age in a person before. Her skin sort of hangs and folds, but her face hold some sort of burrowed beauty in it, like she perhaps used to be quite pretty in her younger years.

_"I know what I saw –" She_ insists, stubbornly.

I hear a loud sound from outside that directs my attention away from the television. Within a second, I am up and rushing toward the window, yanking back the blanched purple drapes in a rush. The curtain makes a loud ripping sound from between my fingers and the long metal bar that was holding them up falls to the ground with a clanking noise. I jump back, stumbling a little bit over the drapes. Bending over, I reach out and grab the metal bar inspecting the damage. Jasper comes through the front door at this time, with about a dozen bags in his hands. His eyes fly to me, and the busted up bar in my hands.

"I'm sorry!" I shout hurriedly. The words are high pitched and short on my tongue.

Jasper eyes widen at them.

"I'm sorry!" I shout again.

He drops the bags on the floor and starts toward me.

"I'm sorry!"

"I get it, Swan." Jasper sighs, snatching the bar out of my tightly clenched hands. "Are you hurt? Did you hurt yourself?"

"No," I shake my head. My hands open in close in fists, and I just stand there waiting. For what? I do not know.

Jasper props the bar up against the wall and kicks the drapery to the side. He inspects my arms and face, then drops his hands to the side and steps back.

"It was an accident?" he asks me, his blonde eyebrows narrowed.

"Yes."

"Okay then. As long as you're not intentionally trying to break my shit."

"Shit?" I repeat. I thought those were _drapes_.

"Stuff. As long as you're not intentionally trying to break my stuff."

"No."

Jasper picks up the bags. "Follow me. I bought you things."

"Oh." I say. I follow behind Jasper, looking from his black, worn shoes to the very top of his messy hair. Jasper reminds me a bit of Fay, just because of his height and curly hair. Oh, how I miss Fay! I wonder what he is doing right now; Probably teaching the Passers. Does he miss me? Does he even know where I am? Do any of them?

Jasper sits on the bed and motions for me to join him. I sink onto the bed, and begin picking at my shirt – or rather, Jasper's shirt. He takes items out of the bag and lays them down in front of me. There are at least seven shirts displayed on the bed, all in a different array of colors ranging from pink to black.

"I don't know what your size is, so I just went with as many medium sized shirts as I could find. Here . . ." he rustles around in a bag. "I got you a hoodie." He pulls a gray jacket and sits it in my lap. "Um, a few jeans. It's almost winter, so, warm clothes and all that." He continues to pulls stuff out of the bags, naming the items as they hit the bed. "A scarf, a hat. Gloves. Socks." He pulls out another bag, peers inside it and quickly looks away, scratching his neck. I watch him, then snatch the bag from his lap and start pulling stuff out.

"Victoria's secret," I say. Jasper sputters.

"What? No – it's," he takes a breath. "Damned commercials. This is underwear. And bras. I . . . yeah." He scratches the back of his neck. "You know how to . . ." he gestures to his chest.

"Yes." I say, and he lets out a big rush of air.

"Right, well. Soap. Shampoo . . ." and on and on he goes. When he's finished naming off items and explaining their uses I smile at him. Some of the descriptions are self-explanatory, like the toothbrush, but I don't stop him. I take note of some of Jasper's mannerisms. Firstly, he's a rambler. Talking for him seems to be a bit of a hassle, and as he specifies he gets annoyed. Not at me, I presume, but at the action.

I do not think he likes to talk much.

Some other niches of his are a bit odd, like scratching. He tends to rub the back of his neck a lot, or run his hands through his hair. He blinks perpetually when he's trying to think of something and will usually follow it up with a rub of his neck. I watch these actions with a deep fascination, guessing what he's going to do next and assuming correctly.

"I don't know how long it's supposed to be, but um, I guess you can just read the directions on the back of the bottle if you get confused, assuming you can read, I mean, I'm sure you can but – _why_ are you _looking_ at me like that?" he breaks off, his nose slightly scrunched up.

I shrug, the action jerky but stiff.

"You interest me." I say, looking down at the deodorant in my hands. I flip it over, back and forth, back and forth.

"Huh." He huffs. "I'm glad I amuse you." But he doesn't seem that glad, so I figure this must be his sarcasm slipping through. He stands up abruptly, and gathers all of the empty plastic bags and makes his way for the door.

"Jass-per." I say quickly. He stops and looks back at me, his mouth tight and lips pursed.

"What?" he snaps.

"Thank you," I murmur, lifting up some random item and waving it at him. Slowly, his mouth goes lax.

He nods once and moves his eyes at the wooden chifferobe. "You can put your things in there." I look over briefly and nod in agreement.

"Okay." A silence settles over us for a while.

"When you're done, come into the kitchen. I . . . dinner."

"Peas?" I ask with a small smile. The side of his mouth quirks and he shakes his head.

"No. Something better."

"What?" I ask, excitedly.

He jerks his head toward the closet meaningfully and then walks out of the door.

I sigh, but do as I am told.

{~'~}

Before I go to meet Jasper in the kitchen, I change into something more comfortable. Not that his T-shirt and basketball shorts are not cozy, but they are too big for me. His shirt comes to just above my knees, and his shorts are more like pants.

I pull off his shirt, and I throw it in the corner.

Once I am clothed in pink flannel pajamas, I flutter into the kitchen. Jasper is putting things away, and I notice that he has his hair tied back into a sloppy ponytail, locks of blonde hair are sticking out and curling into the neck of his shirt. He glances at me when I walk in, mouth twitching at my outfit. I make myself busy by sitting down on one of the rickety chairs, patiently watching him move around the small kitchen.

Jasper, when he's not bumbling about, has this sort of manly elegance about him, which I find quite intriguing. His movements are swift and seemingly processed, not jerky like mine. His back is always ramrod straight, but not stiff. His limbs move as if they were pulled by a steady string, barely any pauses in-between movements and I wonder why other humans don't move this way as well.

I chuckle at the thought. From what I have seen on TV, humans are exceptionally clumsy at times; they walk into glass doors, slip on banana peels and accidentally run into people. I might fit in very well.

"What's funny?" Jasper asks at the sound of my laugh.

I purse my lips, focusing on getting my words right.

"Body and kinetic correlation," I slur. The words sound all wrong, and I wince in distaste. Luckily, Jasper understands.

"Oh yeah? What about it?" he questions.

"It is . . . odd, how uncoordinated beings can be." Jasper makes a clucking sound with his tongue.

"Yeah, well. You would have first hand experience with coordination, wouldn't you Swan?"

I narrow my eyes at him.

"But anyway," he walks over toward the table and opens a white paper bag. Jasper pulls out a long wrapped package with yellow print on it. I watch his fingers as they deftly unwrap it, to reveal a sandwich. "It's a sandwich. I didn't know what you like so I just got everything on it. You can pick off the stuff you don't want."

"Thanks," I murmur, inspecting the food in front of me.

"Hopefully you don't have any allergic reactions." He smirks. I roll my eyes and pick at my sandwich. It's surprisingly good, the flavors of the meat and spices baffle me to no end. I bring my nose to the sandwich and inhale deeply.

It smells almost as good as it tastes. Peeking up at Jasper, I sniff it again. He's eyeing me like I have a second head and I start to say something, but my sneeze interrupts that.

"Bless you," Jasper smirks.

"Thank you," I say, wiping at my eyes. "Would you like to try some of it?" I ask, holding the sandwich up to his face. Jasper's nose wrinkles at that and he leans back, shaking his head.

"Yeah, no. I'll pass."

"Are you certain? It is quite delectable." I try.

"I'm sure all your sneezing and sniffling was the perfect extract. One thing about being human, Swan, is that you have to try not to get sick. You get sick, you might die. Granted this is 2013, and we have medication and all that, but still."

"Um."

"But, since you were formerly an angel, I doubt you will have to worry about that."

"But you can get sick?" I question. Jasper seems to weigh this question for a while, his mouth twitching side to side.

"No." he says finally.

"Then how- "

"Let's just put it this way, I'd rather not eat something after you have sneezed all over it."

"Because I have germs?" I ask. "But everything has bacteria."

"Alright, so if I spit in your food right now, you're telling me that it wouldn't deter you from eating the rest of your sandwich?"

"Yuck! Of course it would!" I blanch at the idea.

"Okay then." He says with finality. I take a bite out of my bacteria-infested tomato.

"So," I begin, still chewing. "Because I was a former angel, I have some advantages over humans? Could you specify what those are and how you know about angels?" Jasper wrinkles his nose again.

"You eat, and I will explain, okay? Just . . . don't talk with your mouth full, it's gross." I nod obediently and he continues. "As far as I know, you are pretty much indestructible. Nothing can cause any permanent damage to you, except fire. That's not to say that you can't get hurt. You know this, already." His eyes fall to his hands. I watch him as he picks at his fingernails, uninterested. "Further, you don't really have to eat. It is more of a luxury. Food and water are arbitrary. You, err, don't have to go to the bathroom. If you eat, then, well, you do. Your organs generally functions like humans' do. Your heart beats, your lungs pump oxygen and your digestive tract works but it is all very subjective on how you live. You could jump off of a cliff and be hurt very badly, but you won't die of internal complications unless you fell into an open pit of fire." Jasper pauses for a second, swallowing. He looks somewhat perturbed at the thought of that, not that I blame him.

"Also, your senses are more heightened. Your sight and hearing reach farther than a human's. The only difference, really, is your peripheral vision. It's more restricted than it was as an angel. You won't be able to see someone sneaking up behind you, but you will sense him or her doing it."

Some of the things he has just explained I have already noticed, but the confirmation soothes me a little. It is comforting to know that I cannot die from trivial things. Even if I did, where would I go? Back up to heaven? What about my Passage? I begin to ask Jasper this, but think of something better.

"How is it that your knowledge of angels is so expanse? I find it hard to believe that an ordinary human could be so educated." Jasper's lips quirk up into a smirk.

"You find me ordinary?"

I clear my throat at his evasion.

"Jasper," I begin but he cuts me off with an exaggerated sigh.

"Use your head, Swan. Do I _look_ ordinary? Do I act it? Could you please explain to me exactly what your concept of ordinary _is_? What exactly do you know of ordinary?"

"Um," I mumble, taken aback by his change of attitude. His words have progressively grown harsher, and that little vein on the side of his temple has already made its appearance.

"Well?" he beckons.

"I do not – "

"See, that is the thing that really gets me about you angels. You just . . . " he breaks off, shaking his head.

"I was just asking. Aliciel told me to ask as many questions as I can- "

"Aliciel," he scoffs, clucking his tongue as if recalling some unpleasant memory.

"You know Aliciel?" I ask.

"Of course I do. And what does that tell you?"

"Um," I think.

"Stop being lazy, Swan. You can ask me whatever you want but do not be lazy. Use your head. Think."

Suddenly it comes to me, and I almost smack my forehead in frustration.

"You have been to heaven. Why? Did you die?"

"Yes and no," he laughs and the action catches me off guard. "I definitely wasn't resurrected. I'm not the type." I watch as he get up and walks over to the cupboard, he opens it up and pulls out a glass. "Tell me, Swan. In the past few days that you have known me, have you seen me eat anything?"

"No," I answer.

"And how often do humans eat?" he goes to the refrigerator and pulls out a milk carton.

"Many times a day – "

Jasper raises his eyebrows expectantly, but does not look at me while he pours himself a glass.

"You're not human."

"Ding, ding."

"But then, what – "

Jasper laughs a deep, boisterous laugh when the clogs finally click in my head.

"You . . . were an angel." My eyes bulge out of my head. "_You _are the angel Aliciel was telling me about!"

"In the flesh."

I sit back in my chair.

"You have so many thoughts running through your head, but you had better catch up with them. I haven't got any patience for laziness or stupidity. You really should have figured this out already." He criticizes.

All I can do is watch him as he throws his head back and downs the milk.

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**AN: So what do you think? I hope I cleared up some questions you guys had regarding the setting and Jasper's mortality. Drop me a line!**

**~Beanie**


	4. Questions

**AN: *pokes head out from tiny hole* Heeeeey. My excuse is wedding planning. I really have been trying to get this out, and I am sorry for the wait! But it's here, so.**

**Thank you to all of you who read and review, it means A LOT to me. And thank you to Suuz who is ill with a fever, but still corrected this and sent it back hastily :3 She's super awesome.**

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Chapter 4: Questions

"_And as the ocean blooms, it's what keeps me alive. So why does it still hurt? Don't blow your mind with why_." - Bloom by Radiohead

Only a day has passed since I found out Jasper used to be an angel, and I am more confused than ever before. There are tons of questions buzzing around my head. It feels vaguely familiar to the static-like sonar I experienced when I was a Passer, except my thoughts are too swift and subjective to fully comprehend.

I am trying to use this "common sense" to connect the dots to what I want to know, and I have made a couple of conclusions.

First, I do not think Jasper likes me. This was the easiest to conclude; the way he treats me sometimes makes me wonder why he even bothers, because he acts as if I am a burden. He does not smile, not that he used to do that a lot before. His words have grown more succinct when he speaks to me, and by the way his eyes roll to the ceiling, I feel like he is just merely putting up with me.

Which leads me to my next question: why? Why does he put up with me, why is he here, and _how?_ These three questions are the ones occupying me the most.

I have some speculations on this. First, I thought that God had forgot about him. But I quickly denied that because how could He? Then I thought that maybe he had been damned here to Earth, yet that hardly feels like a punishment. So far, I think this might be the reason he is here because of his constant melancholy.

He's been avoiding me too. Right now, he is in his office. He has been in there for some time, three hours and twelve minutes exactly. I know because there is a clock right over the television. And I have been watching television all day.

This is what I have been doing here on Earth: watching television, or at least I would be, if its reception was working.

I get up with a grunt and walk over to it, moving the cable box around like Jasper has done. When that does not work, I start banging on the top of the television. I bang a little too hard and the cable box falls behind it.

"Ugh," I reach and arm behind the television, holding on to the back of it so it does not fall. My fingers brush against the cords, and I stand on the tips on my toes to reach, because I am . . . almost . . . there . . .

I tighten my grasp on the TV, and whilst I am reaching, I am pulling the television off the stand after it is too late. The face of the television falls forward with a crash, breaking the screen and splintering the wooden floor. I shriek and step back, inadvertently stepping on the glass of the screen, which cuts effortlessly into the skin of my foot. So much for being impenetrable.

I lift my foot up at the pain and lose my balance, and _of course_ I fall onto the glass as well.

Jasper comes out at this moment, sees me on the ground and then sees his television, and thus his floor.

"My TV!" he yells, his nostrils flared. "Swan! My . . . damn it!" I do not know if he smells the blood before he sees it, but he looks at me and curses some more.

"Fuck! Don't move." He runs into the kitchen, and is back a second later with a broom and pan. Jasper begins sweeping the glass aside and walks over to me, dropping the broom.

By now, I have already started to cry, which does not help the situation. Another conclusion, Jasper does not like tears. Still he does not say anything. He leaves then comes back with a box with a red cross on it. He rips it open and empties out the supplies. He nudges me onto my side and makes quick work of removing the glass from my skin with metal pinchers. I don't watch him do this, but I can feel how fast he is going by how often the pinchers return to my skin.

"Stop crying, will you?" he barks, and that silences me, a little. When the glass is out of my hands, side and feet he rips open another package.

I do not know what is worse, the pain, or the way Jasper is looking at me.

Once he's finished and my crying has reduced to sniffling, I take a look at my wounds. They've stopped bleeding and thin, pink scars have formed where the cuts were. Wow, that was fast.

"Because as I've said before, you heal fast. The bleeding stopped by the time I had pulled the glass out. Maybe if you hadn't been crying you would have noticed." He grumbles, throwing the materials in the box.

"I'm sorry," I say, picking up a box of bandages to help him clean, but he rips it from my hand. When he does that, something inside me snaps. My cheeks heat as I snatch it out of his hands, and throw it at the box so hard that the other materials go flying out of it. Then I start to scream at him, I don't know where my voice comes from, but it's here and it's _loud_.

"I am trying to apologize! I'm sorry! I'm sorry I am stupid and clumsy, but I am trying! I am new at this. I am sorry I broke your television! I am sorry I broke your curtain! And broke your floor and your Comcast. I am sorry I am such a burden to you and I am sorry you hate me!" I jab him in the chest with my finger, looking him straight in the eyes. As I say that, his expression softens, but then nose flares and his eyebrows narrow. There is just no way to get through to him. "But I did not ask to be here with you! Since you do not want me here I will just go on my own! I do not need your help!" I push myself off the floor, and trudge my way into my bedroom. I do not know what is festering up inside me, but whatever it is makes my feet hit the floor faster and slam the door harder.

I am really better off without him. I can learn on my own, I can teach myself! What was I learning here anyway? How to flip channels? No, I should go. I _must_ go.

I rip the sheet from my bed, it tears a little, but it will do. I lay it on the ground, and then I go to my drawers and empty the clothes into the sheet. I throw my deodorant and shampoo in as well, even adding in a box of Goldfish crackers I had sitting on my dresser. I gather the ends of my sheets and throw it over my shoulder and walk out of the room.

Jasper is sitting on the couch, watching me as I head for the door. I refuse to look at him though. I am so upset, I might throw up.

"Shoes," he mumbles from behind me.

"What?" I snap at him, finally looking at his smug little face. He smirks at me.

"I don't know how far you think you're going to make it without any shoes, Swan, but it ain't far. You might step on a porcupine needle or something, and I'll be damned if I am going to fix you up then."

I look down, and sure enough, I am barefoot. Part of me just wants to keep going, but I guess he has a point. I groan, sit down my things and trudge back to my room to get some shoes. I return a minute later, trudging towards the door, even faster than before.

"Nice knots," he snickers at my shoelaces.

I ignore him though, because I am done with all of his snickering and nagging. I am done with his attitude or lack thereof. I have the world to explore; if he doesn't want to help me then . . . I will just have to discover it on my own. He'd only slow me down anyway.

I take a step outside, and the cold air hits my face with such a gusto I almost retreat back inside. Oh, right. Winter. As I take my first step, I realize that this is actually the first time I have been outside since the night I was dropped off here. The thought only upsets me further.

As I make my way into the forest, I begin to wonder where I am headed. I will not find out anything about human life if I am in the forest, will I? The odds of me finding anyone the way I am headed are slim. My best bet is to turn back around and follow the road from the house.

The thing is, I don't actually recall which way I had come from. It's green all around me and I everything looks exactly the same.

It takes me about forty minutes to find my way back to the house, but I refuse to look at it. I know Jasper is probably watching me from the window, laughing at me. My stomach churns at that. I'll show him.

I walk around his truck, following the driveway until I find the road. I walk and I walk and then I walk some more. The dirt road is lonely, but it gives me time to think. I can only think about Jasper though.

At first I am angry with how he didn't even try to stop me as I walked out, but the farther I am away from him the more that anger recedes. I start to feel dejected. My heart pumps unevenly in my chest, and my throat closes up in that painful way it does before I start to cry. My footsteps begin to slow, and the pain in my chest worsens. The slight pinching of my heart has evolved to a death grip.

My knees buckle, and I sink onto them. I rub at my chest, aiming to ease some of the tension there, but it is no use.

Oh, it hurts. Almost as much as when I lost my wishbones. I try to breathe how Jasper showed me, in through the nose and out through the mouth, rinse and repeat.

It seems to be working too; the pain in my heart seems to lessen by the second. When I am able to stand, I pick up my luggage and start down the road again. The pinching feel is still there, but it's bearable.

Two minutes onward, and I hear the sound of a car driving behind me. Out of curiosity I turn around to see who the person driving is.

Who else would it be but him? His dark blue truck pulls alongside me, but I won't look at him. I keep walking forward, even as he veers his car toward me to cut off my path, I walk around it.

"Get in the truck, Swan."

I ignore that too.

"Look, I am sorry that I hurt your feelings or whatever, just get in."

Hah. Some apology. I speed up my pace.

"Swan!" he yells. I tighten my grasp on my sheet.

"Swan!" he shouts again. I just smirk and quicken my pace some more. His engine roars to life, and five seconds later he's cutting off my path again.

"Look I said I was sorry! What else do you fucking want?"

Respect maybe? Acknowledgement, perhaps?

"Just . . . get in the truck, and we'll forget this ever happened, alright?"

I snort at that and walk even faster. I'm almost jogging now.

"I don't understand how this is helping the situation Swan. Your running away, won't complete your Passage. Admit it, Swan. You need me! So just get in the car and – "

That struck a nerve.

"I don't need you Jasper! What have you been doing for me? Nothing, that's what!" I stop and yell at him. He smiles crookedly at me, his light blue eyes flashing.

"So, she speaks!" he announces, smacking the steering wheel. "Just get in the fucking car."

"No," I say, turning away from him. "I'm doing this on my own. I'd thank you for your help, but . . . what would I be thanking you for? Breaking my wishbones? Ignoring me? No thanks."

"Are you still sore over those damned things? Because you can't blend into the human world with elephant tusks growing out your fucking back!" he waits for me to respond, but I don't. "Last chance, Swan. Get into the car or else –"

"Or else what?" I snap. He narrows his eyes at me, pouty lips, pursed. He doesn't say anything, so I turn back around and start walking.

A beat later and I hear his car door slam, the metal making an awful screeching sound in protest. I turn and look to see him running full speed after me.

Is he crazy?

I break off into a sprint, because there is no way I am going back with him. No thank you. I stretch out my legs and pump my arms, looking forward. I can just barely make out a sign of some sort, civilization must be near. I figure that if I just run far enough, someone will see me and. . . .

And what?

Jasper is gaining on me; I can practically feel his breath on my neck. That's odd though, because I know that he's about 30 feet behind me. But it's sort of like I can feel him wrapping around me, slowing me down. A dull sort of fog is settling on my shoulders, pulling me downward. I almost want to stop running because the longer I run, the heavier it gets.

But I won't. I will not stop. Willingly, anyway.

The dullness has worked in Jasper's advantage, I realize, when I actually do feel his breath on my neck. His arms wrap around my waist, tackling me to the ground. I struggle out of his hold, but what he lacks in speed he excels in strength.

"Fucking stop it, will you?" he shouts, straddling my waist. I try to get him off of me, slapping and pushing at him, but he grabs my arms and holds them down by my head. "Resistance is futile." He smirks, panting. I'm quiet, looking anywhere but at him and his sparkling blue eyes. "You're fast," he notes. I don't know if it is a compliment or not. "And stubborn as a damn mule. You break my shit, and you pronounce things wrong all the time. You're also incredibly ignorant, which is extremely annoying."

I whip my head towards him, glaring, but he just laughs. It's a deep, husky, very pretty laugh, but it's also condescending.

"But . . . I don't hate you Swan. I'm not genetically wired to hate. Neither are you. You have no concept of what hate is. You have no concept of. . ." he shakes his head and squints his eyes. "Anything. But, it's my job to show you. It's my job to teach you things. And I am . . . sorry that I have been such a jackass." He's doing that blinking thing again, where he doesn't know how to get his words out. "But just like you, I am trying. And, it is . . . hard for me. I'm not. . . I'm not. . ." more head shaking.

"Not what?" I ask, looking into his eyes, trying to understand. Because that is all I want, really, to understand. To understand this world, to understand my place in The Plan, to understand Jasper.

"I'm not an angel. I cannot be as understanding and patient as you want me to be. I . . . that's not me. I have been here on Earth for a long time. I'm not like . . . Aliciel and Liaz and Jezer. So don't . . . expect . . . me to be able to – "

"Okay." I nod.

"Okay?" he asks, confused.

"I know. I know that you are not them. I am glad you are not them. You are you and . . . I – " I take a breath. "Okay."

He nods, giving me a tiny smile. I return it, and for a minute we just stay like that before Jasper gets uncomfortable with our position.

"Erm, if I get up will you run away again? Because I would really hate to have to subdue you again." He asks.

"Subdue me? Yeah, what was that, anyway?" the heavy fog lifted as soon as he'd touched me. Did he have some kind of power over me? Or was I just imagining things?

"In due time, I'll explain." He mutters, getting up. He offers his hand to me, as a peace offering I suppose. I don't hesitate in taking it, shivering as our skin touches. I feel warm all over, and I finally pinpoint the familiar feeling. It's almost the same as how I felt when I had touched Fay, but this buzzing is enhanced somehow. I gasp and he lets go of me, bending over to gather my makeshift luggage. He shoots a hesitant look at me.

"I won't run." I promise and he looks satisfied.

The way back to the truck is quiet, and I don't say anything until we pass the red stop sign that had been my beacon for running.

"Where are we going? I thought we were returning to home?" I question, looking out the back window, then to him.

"Put your seatbelt on," he says glancing at the unclasped buckle at my side. "And to answer your question, no. We are not going back home. Not now, at least. Take a look into that bag by your feet."

I pull a burgundy duffle onto my lap. It's quite heavy and a bit long, so I space out my legs to avoid them going to sleep from the weight of it. Despite being so invincible, my limbs do indeed fall asleep. I learned this the hard way after watching television for four hours straight without moving.

I open up the bag, and the first thing I see is a thick map, labeled "POLAND".

"Oswiecim, Poland? What's in there?" I ask, rifling through the duffle again. I find a little navy blue booklet and pull it out. I flip it open to see a picture of me inside. I do not remember being photographed, ever. I would have remembered. I run my finger over the picture, marveling at the sight. It is awfully weird to see myself frozen in this time. "What's this?" I ask holding it up.

"It's a passport. For traveling." He answers eyes on the road.

"We're going to Poland? That's in Europe, right?" he nods. "Oh. Why?"

"So I can show you what hate really is. We're going to Auschwitz, the most notorious concentration camp of the holocaust. I think it will help you understand the difference between hating someone and being annoyed by them. It'll also show you how some humans think, or don't think, I guess."

"I see," I nod. "How long will it take to get there?"

"A while, Swan. A while."

"Will we go by train?" I ask, taking a look at the map.

"No. Just by car and airplane."

"I have never been in an airplane before," I mumble.

"I know, Swan."

"Is it frightening?"

"Not to me. Shouldn't be for you either. Especially because it's as close to flying as you'll be getting for a while." He mutters. I let that comment pass. Looking down at my passport, I look at the information. Twenty-two year old, Italian-American, Isabella Swan stares back at me.

"Who's Isabella?" I ask, pointing at the name. He rolls his eyes.

"That's you, Swan. Isabella Swan."

"But my name is Ulysses," I say. Jasper laughs at this.

"Ulysses? Seriously? Oh, that's rich. First off, that's a boy's name. You are definitely not a boy."

"True." I had breasts. And a vagina. Definitely a woman.

"Secondly, the name comes from Latin origin, meaning "hateful" or "wrathful". Which I think is ironic, especially now. But no. I think Isabella fits you just fine." He says with a chuckle.

"What does Isabella mean?" I ask, my curiosity piqued. Jasper fumbles a bit, clearing his throat.

"Um, it's Italian for "beautiful". And well, you're certainly not ugly." He offered, awkwardly. My cheeks heat up for some reason. Did he think I was beautiful? I mean, I know I am decent, pretty even, but . . . beautiful. Wow.

"Hmm. What does Jasper mean, then?" I ask, tucking the passport and map back into the duffle bag. I turn in my seat, and rest my back against the door. Jasper hits some button on the side of his door and the door clicks behind me.

"It's derived from the Persian name "Gaspar", which means treasurer or treasure bringer." He brushes his hair back from his forehead.

"So, does that mean you're lucky?" I ask, errantly drawing patterns on my jeans and peeking up at him. Jasper really is a sight to behold. He has some kind of tragic beauty about his face that only serves to enhance his features. His naturally pouty lips, his bright blue eyes and curly blonde hair – glorious.

"Hah. No. "Treasure bringer" not "treasure keeper". If I was going to be fortunate, I am sure I would have been named as such."

"Well I think you're pretty lucky. You could be worse off. You could be in hell." I offer.

"Hell doesn't exist," he answers simply.

"What do you mean it doesn't exist?" I ask. "Of course it does."

"Have you ever seen it?" he asks.

"Well, no. Thank God." I breathe. My stomach churns of the thought.

"Then how do you know it exists?" he challenges, eyeing me.

"Well, I've never seen God either. But I know he exists." Some things don't need to be seen, to be able to be felt.

"Because you have felt him around you? In the air."

"Well, yes. But . . ."

"Have you ever felt the presence of hell?" he asks. I shake my head. "Neither have I."

"It still exists, though. I mean. . ." I begin to get flustered, reassessing all my knowledge of the underworld and its raging pits of fire.

"I'm not trying to upset you, Swan. I just want you to see the whole picture. Did Aliciel tell you to question everything?"

"She did," I agree. Which is exactly what I have been doing.

"Alright then." He nods. "Then that's what you do."

"Can I ask another question then?"

"Shoot."

"Shoot what?"

"I mean, yes. Go ahead and ask." He snickers.

"How come you aren't an angel anymore? Why were you sent here? What is your purpose?" I ramble. To my surprise Jasper chuckles instead of getting defensive.

"That's more than one question." I just shrug. "It's a long story." He warns.

"I've got the time," I say with an encouraging smile. And I did. He said it would take us a while to get to Poland.

"Well," Jasper starts, tightening his hand on the steering wheel. "It all started on the day I was created. . .


End file.
